Despair
by Vegetableswillhavetheirrevenge
Summary: The trial is on, and the magic-users of Camelot are half way through their chance to prove themselves to the Kingdom. With the entire future of their kind on the line, along with Merlin's own life, the effort to help things go smoothly has been tremendous. But not everyone cares about the future of magic-kind, and things are about to turn for the worse. Fourth in Redemption.
1. Chapter 1

**I'M BACK! And I bring with me an offering of peace and goodwill (or is it?)- this, the fourth in my Redemption series! To those of you who have already read Nightmares, Reality and Illusions, welcome back! **

**To those of you who haven't, here's the basics: Morgause made a spell so Merlin had endless Nightmares whenever he slept as revenge for the Morgana poisoning, which ended up in Arthur accidentally finding out about the magic (and being surprisingly okay with it). In Reality, The Witches teamed up with Alvarr and sent an Army of sorcerers marching on Camelot. In order to save the day, Merlin had to reveal his magic in a big way and, after a failed execution, Uther locked him up in a dingy dungeon, with no plans of ever releasing him. In the process, Merlin subconsciously gave Arthur a tattoo with epic protective properties. Illusions showed Morgana's return to Camelot, along with a devious plot to hijack the minds of the entire Kingdom so that they willingly gave her the throne. Arthur, together with Kennard (a Knight who, due to unknown magical powers and a special mind, was unaffected by the spell) set Merlin free, and together with an undercover sorcerer named Michael and his daughter Aveline, they managed to save the day (but at a horrendous price). Uther, haven't experienced by now the pureness of Merlin's magic, agreed somewhat reluctantly to a six-month trial of magic, with Merlin's life and the entire future of magic as the stakes. And now we start my tale of Despair, which takes place three months into said trial. If you want all the details, you should probably go and read the stories in full. If not, then that's okay too. The choice is all yours.**

**Extra rambles at the end. For now, please enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin (although a growing number of people seem to be rallying behind my plan of travelling back in time to transfer the power to a select group of deserving individuals).**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

In the centre of one of Camelot's many vast halls, a young man knelt nervously, a heavy hood concealing his every expression as he stared, wide-eyed, at the figures gathered before him. The four made an imposing sight, draped as they were in intricately woven robes, and with similarly-decorated hoods of their own shrouding all but the vaguest impressions of their features from sight. With the flickering candlelight casting the room in eerie, dancing shadows, and with the almost tangible thrum of power and authority in the air, it was taking every last ounce of his willpower not to simply turn tail and run as fast as humanly possible. In fact, had he not been absolutely certain that none of these beings meant him any harm, he would have done just that, regardless of what he knew was so nearly in his grasp.

One of the figures spoke, his voice ringing through the air in such a manner that it was almost impossible to decipher the actual source of the sound.

"You have been informed of each and every term," he started, "and have been made fully aware of all aspects of this agreement?"

It took a moment for the young man to remember that he needed to reply. He gulped once, swallowing past the dry lump which had formed in his throat. "I have."

"And you are willing to adhere to these terms, knowing what will befall you should you choose to betray them?"

"I am."

At his reply the figures parted, revealing a beautifully carved wooden podium, runes of power he had never even seen before etched in swirling grooves onto its surface.

"Then rise," continued the voice, "and come forward."

He did- climbing to his feet, and wishing absently that the cold stone of the floor hadn't turned his knees quite so numb, until he drew to a halt mere feet from his ultimate goal. Upon the podium, he could now see, rested a single scroll of parchment. Ancient runes and words from various languages traced a golden pattern along its edges, but other than that the parchment appeared almost ominously blank. To the podium's right, a smaller pillar came into view, this one holding naught but a minuscule bowl of ink and a single, pure white quill.

There was barely time to take all of this in, though, before the voice was speaking again, only this time he was close enough to realise that it was emanating from the figure now standing to the immediate right of the podium.

"Do you vow, then, to wield your knowledge of magic wisely, and in a manner which benefits Camelot and all her citizens?"

"I vow to wield my knowledge with all the wisdom I possess, for the aid of Camelot."

"And do you acknowledge the right of the crown to punish you accordingly should you knowingly break this oath?"

"I acknowledge the crown's authority over me."

"Then you have my approval, and with it the approval of the crown."

With these words, the man drew a sharp, two-ended pin from within his robes, and used it to pierce a small hole in the palm of his hand. A single drop of blood welled up, and was allowed to drop into the waiting ink.

A second figure came forward from the left of the podium and promptly mimicked the man's actions. This time, though, the tones belonged to a woman. "The council of magic acknowledges you." She then moved to stand to the reverse of the podium, and a second man took her place.

"The Guild of Perception Magic acknowledges you."

The final figure's voice revealed her to be another woman, this time acting on behalf of the Guild of Nature Magic. Once her own blood had joined that of the others within the ink, she, too, made her way to a point behind the podium, so that the four were now arranged in a loose semicircle around it. Then the first man's hand withdrew once more into the folds of his robes, this time emerging with a small vial of red liquid clutched in his grasp. Uncorking the stopper, he let a single drop of the viscous liquid drop into the ink.

"And, with this, the Guild of Defensive Magic acknowledges you also. If you truly desire to accept this acknowledgement, then step up to the podium and draw back your sleeve."

Swallowing his growing nerves, the young man followed the instructions, tugging back his right sleeve until his entire forearm was exposed. Even knowing what he did about what was going to happen, though, he couldn't quite hold back a slight flinch when the robed man took hold of his proffered arm and pierced it with the other end of the pin. The wound was not deep, but the sight of his own blood never failed to leave him with a slight feeling of queasiness. Nevertheless, he didn't once look away as the pin carried a droplet away and deposited it with the rest.

With that done, the pin was once again concealed, and its wielder took a few slow steps, completing the half-circle and ensuring that the surface of the scroll was out of his line of sight. The the voice came again.

"Hold your right hand above the ink, then take the quill in your left and place its tip against your wound."

Almost as soon as the action was complete, the figures started chanting. Words of ancient power ebbed and flowed, weaving together with such incredible pace that he found himself quite unable to make out more than the odd phrase. And yet the voices continued, never once faltering, blending together in such perfect harmony that it could almost be described as beautiful. And as they spoke the ink glowed dully beneath his hand, its surface rippling and pulsing until it almost seemed as though a living creature was dwelling within it. The waves came faster and faster, building in pace until they matched the rhythm of the spoken words. Then, at the precise moment they reached their frenzied peak, the ink leapt up, trailing along his skin until it reached the point the needle had pierced. A momentary spark engulfed the spot, and then the wound was gone. Less than a heartbeat passed before the ink was moving again. A portion split off and travelled into the waiting quill's nib, while the rest spread out in all directions, sinking into his skin to form a simple yet intricate design.

The tattoo was unique to him, he knew, bound as it was with his own blood and the blood and magic from the guilds he wished to join. He watched it form with undisguised interest. There was the inner triangle of defence, cut through the centre by the vertical eye of perception. And, leading away from where the two joined, the two thorny branches from the Guild of Nature Magic wove themselves proudly into his cells. Amongst them all, of course, formed the central points of power for each guild- the ones which would allow his access to the respective guild houses and the libraries which dwelt within. Then, enclosing it all, a single ring to bind the spell together, imbued with the power and authority of Emrys himself.

As he studied the tattoo in its entirety, the voice spoke again. He may not have been surprised were it not for the fact that not one of the figures had ceased their ever more complex chanting. The voice was speaking in his head- a not unheard of phenomenon among magic users, but the ability of mind-speak was not one with which this particular young man had ever been gifted.

'_You can remove the quill now_,' spoke the voice. '_Use it to sign your name upon the scroll._'

Still confused, the man nonetheless hastened to switch the quill to his right hand. This was a complex ceremony- better to obey now and ask questions later. Thankful as ever for the uncle who had deemed it necessary to teach him his letters, he guided the quill towards the parchment and carefully etched out each individual letter of his name.

It took only a few seconds more for the spell to finally draw to a close, and as the final words dispersed into the air, so, too, did the ink on both scroll and arm fade out of sight.

There was a moment of heavy silence as the true weight of what had just occurred settled itself in his mind. Free. He was free. For the first time in over five years, he would finally be able to walk the streets without fear of execution. Tears sprung, unbidden, to his eyes at the thought, even as a tremendous grin threatened to split his face cleanly in two. This trial of magic may have only had three months left to it, but he knew in that moment that he would do his utmost to ensure its ultimate success. If only so that he would never have to experience such a feeling of separation again.

Then the voice spoke once more.

"If you so choose, you may remove your hood and speak your name here. If you desire your identity to remain unknown, then you will be escorted from the castle and you will be free to remove it whenever you feel it safe to do so. Anyone who attempts to remove it by force will be punished accordingly, in keeping with the terms of this contract."

"There's no need for that," he answered, still beaming even as he drew back his hood, absently ruffling his unruly mop of dirty blond hair. "There's no chance of me hiding again."

The lead figure removed his own hood in reply, revealing an interesting set of features, pale skin, blue eyes and a grin more open and friendly than the young sorcerer had ever seen. "I'm glad to hear it. Your name, then?"

"Asher." He accepted the outstretched hand, studying the man before him. So this was Emrys. He wasn't as imposing as the prophecies had made him out to be. "My name is Asher."

"Merlin," Emrys replied. "Glad to have you on board, Asher."

It was a little odd, suddenly hearing the voice without the authority and power required for the ceremony. It made Emrys seem more... normal, somehow. A strange notion, but one he suspected he would adjust to easily enough.

"This is Maven," Merlin continued, oblivious to Asher's inner musings as he gestured towards a somewhat firm-looking woman from the now similarly unhooded trio to his right. "She works with me as a member of the council of magic. Peronell- "the other woman- shorter, with more of a plump figure- "is the head of the Guild of Nature Magic, and Franklin-" the man with piercing, ice-blue eyes and an immaculately groomed goatee- "is head of Perception Magic. Don't worry- they look scary, but they don't bite. Much." The Warlock grinned again, seemingly finding amusement in Asher's expression. "Any questions?"

Asher jolted out of his shock- those other three really did paint an imposing picture- and managed to recall his earlier confusion.

"Umm... earlier- you spoke in my mind?"

"Ah." Merlin gave a nod of understanding. "As I thought, you're not used to it."

"No," Asher agreed. "How did you-" He cut himself off.

"Part of the spell," Merlin explained. "All those with a double-ringed tattoo- that's the council and guild heads- will be able to speak directly to you in times of crisis. And, this being Camelot, you never know when _those_ will occur." Here he rolled his eyes, and Asher had an uncomfortable feeling that the gangly man was only half joking. "It only works one way, I'm afraid, but I reckon it'll prove a useful enough addition. Thankfully, we haven't had much use for it outside of the ceremony. Yet."

"Right..." Was this man _trying_ to make him nervous? Then he noticed something he'd been too overwhelmed to realise before. "What about the Defensive Magic guild head?" It _was_ his chosen main guild, after all. He'd been rather looking forward to the meeting.

"Oh, that's right!" Merlin exclaimed. "You weren't told, I expect. Dena had to head out on an urgent matter. You needn't worry, though- she donated some magically-enhanced blood for the spell before she left, so no issues there. She'll probably be back by this evening, so you can meet her then. And, until then, Sir Jaxon will show you around." He gestured towards the reverse of the room, and Asher turned to see two men walking towards him. The shorter one was blond and dressed in a loose, high-quality red shirt, breeches and leather boots. The other was probably about ten years older, his red cloak marking him out as the 'Sir Jaxon' Merlin had referred to.

Asher had heard of Sir Jaxon, of course. One of only three magic-wielding knights of Camelot, he and sirs Cheston and Kennard were hot topics even in the far reaches of Odin's Kingdom, Karmerie. Jaxon's name was especially well known, as he had also taken a position as assistant to one of the guild heads on top of his regular duties. Now it seemed that the head in question was this 'Dena' he had yet to meet.

"A pleasure to meet you, Asher," Jaxon stated in a deep, resounding bass. "As Merlin said, I have been tasked with introducing you to Camelot and to the guild. I hope you're a fast learner, because there's an awful lot to take in, and we don't have much time."

Asher held back a gulp. Here was another intimidating one. Camelot seemed to have a lot of those. "Understood."

"Are we done here yet?" Quipped the blond man, a hint of annoyance in his otherwise quite genial tones. "Not that this isn't all extremely touching, but if you hadn't noticed, _Mer_lin, he have quite a lot to get through today."

Before Asher could even think of reacting, Merlin sent the mystery man a mock glare. "And if you'll recall, _Ar_thur, I'm the one who reminded _you_ of that before we started here." The Warlock sent a jokingly apologetic glance in Asher's direction. "Sorry about Arthur. He's impatient at the best of times. And he always gets a bit annoyed at having to attend these ceremonies." Ignoring Arthur's indignant 'I do not!,' Merlin barrelled on. "But we have to have one of the royal family present, and Uther tends to be busy, so the Prince here has to come instead."

Now the nerves had blown into full-blown panic. No-one had told him about this! Eyes wide with horror at the thought of being seen as rude by the Once and Future King, Asher practically stumbled over himself in his haste to bow from the waist. "Forgive my ignorance, my Lord," he managed to force out, rather proud of the fact that his voice remained firm and stutter-free. "It is an honour to make your acquaintance." He didn't straighten until a poorly-concealed snicker of amusement from Merlin caught his attention. Trying in vain to will the red from his cheeks, he looked around to see if any of the others wore a similar expression to the Warlock.

They didn't.

"Forgive this idiot," the Prince droned, a tiny hint of a smirk hidden at the corners of his lips. "He is somewhat prone to fits of the giggles at the most inappropriate of times. Now-" he turned to face Jaxon- "I believe the two of you have somewhere to be."

The older knight inclined his head in brief acknowledgement of the dismissal. "Thank you, sire." Turning immediately, he set a brisk pace towards the door, and Asher had no choice but to follow. And as he risked a glance back at the Prince, a single, most unexpected thought flashed through his mind.

'He's not as tall as I thought he'd be."

* * *

**Ja-jannn! And so ends Despair's initial debut. For anyone who is curious about it, I have created a deviantart account (user name VWHTR), and posted the guild symbols there, along with the images of the combined symbols for each of the members of the magic council (plus the names and ages of the new characters they belong to). Also, considering that the rules and stuff behind this whole trial business are so complex, and because, inevitably, a certain number of OCs are required for this story to be believable, I have decided that my pm box (and reviews, of course) will be open to any questions about this little world of mine which you wish to see answered. This applies to anything which won't be a spoiler, so it can be pretty much anything you're interested in. I will do my best to answer all questions to your satisfaction.**

**Just so you know, these first few chapters will largely be setting the scene, and introducing you to the main changes around Camelot. But have no fear. Things will kick off soon enough. And, hopefully, there will be plenty of angst for you when they do. XD**

**As always, reviews are more than welcome. Like any writer, I really do crave feedback. And this particular series is my main fanfiction baby, so that's extra true here.**

**(ps. I know I gave Odin's Kingdom a name. It kind of bugs me that, even on the official map, pretty much none of the kingdoms have names, and Nemeth is nowhere to be found, even though they supposedly have a claim on the lands of Gedref, and the labyrinth is shown perfectly clearly. So I've taken the liberty of naming each Kingdom, along with one or two random locations in each. They're all real old place names, but with absolutely no regard whatsoever to the original geography)**

**I think that's about it for now, so I'll leave you here. I look forward to hearing from whoever I hear from. ^_^**


	2. Chapter 2

**Ummm... wow. Sorry guys- I completely didn't realise that it had been quite a horrendously long time since I posted chapter one. Life sort of decided to give me an almost endless stream of mini and maxi-blow-ups. Some easy to handle, some taking days to sort. Some of you know about the laptop keyboard/apple juice incident from earlier on. Only one or two know that, due to work stuff, I have had to move prefectures twice (talk about hectic). Plus, it's a new school year over here, so I've had to start settling in to new schools and getting to know teachers etc. Still, rest assured that I have no intention whatsoever to make this a regular occurrence. Bring on the shorter update gaps! :D**

**On an entirely different note- thank you sooo much for the fantastic reviews for last chapter. Not to mention those of you who have already decided that this story is already worth following and/or favouriting. I invite all of you to a week-long stay in Camelot castle- no attacks guaranteed (unless you want them).**

**PS. HAPPY EASTER!**

**Now, without further ado, on to the story!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. Sigh.**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

The door had barely drawn to before Merlin shot a glare in Arthur's direction. Which the Prince then promptly ignored. Right at that moment, the young Warlock could quite happily have cursed him and his inborn ability to keep a straight face. It was all the prat's fault that Merlin had even cracked up in the first place. The Prince, it turned out, was not above cracking jokes about those who treated him with such over-the-top regard, as long as such jokes were kept within the confines of his own mind. Or, in this case, Merlin's.

And, to make matters worse, the Warlock couldn't even say anything in open retaliation. The two had decided against informing anyone else about the link between their minds- Uther, in fact, believed the tattoo which allowed it had been removed, rather than simply relocated to a less obvious location wrapped around the Prince's left hip. No-one- not even Arthur's manservant- knew for sure that it still existed. Which meant that yelling at the prat now would appear entirely uncalled for. So, instead, Merlin settled for a temporary solution- jabbing mental promises of imminent revenge in Arthur's direction.

The others, it appeared, were less distracted, and their focus had remained upon the newly-registered Asher.

"We shall have to keep an eye on that one," Maven observed, unclasping her ceremonial robes and tugging them off in one smooth motion. "He strikes me as being almost dangerously impulsive. At his level he should be focusing on one guild, not bouncing between three entirely different areas of study."

"Oh, come on," Merlin objected, getting hold of the scroll as they made their way towards the rear chamber. "He's just excited is all. Besides, I'm technically a member of every guild, and you've never accused _me_ of 'bouncing around.' Well, apart from that one time with the Nimhora root..."

Peronell, who had snagged the quill on her way past, quirked an amused eyebrow. "Questionable experiments with my roots aside, the situations are entirely different, and you know it. No, I'm inclined to agree with Maven this time. I, for one, will not be allowing that one near any of the more volatile plants until he's calmed down quite a bit. Call me crazy, but I'd rather _not_ see a repeat of Nilson's crígan incident."

Everyone experienced an internal shudder at the reminder, but Merlin managed to shake it off relatively quickly. "Well what about you, Franklin?" He pleaded, turning towards his last, desperate hope. "_You_ don't think he's a lost cause, do you?"

The older man didn't even turn around, instead choosing to hang his robes in the waiting wardrobe with careful precision. "Not a lost cause, no," he stated drily. "But I'd place it as another three weeks before he realises that he's over-estimated his abilities and finds his niche. He has a reasonable amount of potential, though, and could prove quite useful in a few years provided he learns to pace himself properly."

Nobody questioned the opinion. In fact, Merlin (and Arthur, he sensed) was rather curious about just how much withheld information the elder man had stored away in order to reach his conclusion. Nothing escaped Franklin's sharp gaze when it came to people, which made his input invaluable when it came to relevant matters of the court. And a little bit scary the rest of the time.

Scroll and quill safely secured in their cabinet, the young Warlock moved to place his own robes in with the others, glad as ever to be free from their oppressive weight.

"Be that as it may be," he pointed out, "I count it as a positive sign that we still have people signing up even after such a long time. Surely that means that it's likely that more people are coming to trust the system. And the more who trust it, the greater our chance of success, right?"

Maven limited her reaction to a slight crease in her brows. Peronell, however, had never been one for restraint, and promptly planted a light slap upside Merlin's head. "Here, what's with that tone? You're not going all pessimistic on us again, are you?"

The youth merely rubbed the back of his head somewhat ruefully. "Wouldn't dream of it- not with you keeping me in line."

The older lady's eyes glittered good-naturedly. "And darn right, too."

It was at this moment that Arthur finally chose to interject, before the situation began calling for hugs.

"If you'll excuse us, ladies. Gentleman." He nodded at each in turn. "But I believe this idiot and I have a training session to be late for. Again."

With a few more quips from Peronell, and slightly more reserved farewells from the other two, the group went their separate ways, back through the main chamber and out into the corridors. Merlin and Arthur increased their pace, the younger of the pair casting a couple of quick spells to conceal their presence from anyone who might attempt to follow without necessity. Arthur was right about one thing, even if he had likely only said it to escape from what he deemed an awkwardly emotional moment- they were on a tight schedule, and this was no time for distractions and interruptions. They couldn't afford to be held up for anything of less than crucial importance, or Uther may well have their heads.

Or, at least, Merlin's head...

* * *

Sir Edgar knelt behind a hefty oak, forcing his breathing to remain steady as he fired rapid-paced hand gestures in the direction of his remaining men. Two had fallen already, taken out by some strange pulse of energy their rogue sorcerer had somehow managed to rig to activate when they passed. And, judging by the extent of the leg wound Gerard had attained during their initial strike, the other knight was likely to hit unconsciousness before long. Himself not included, that meant three left at full strength in his force, and no way to know how the other group was faring without risking alerting the enemy to their position.

This was supposed to have been a simple mission- they had faced more powerful opponents in the past, and this one was alone, after all. It should have been easy.

They hadn't accounted for such a level of warped creativity.

A crash sounded from the east, then more, each one coming closer in quick succession. It looked like the sorcerer had decided it was time to stop running, and instead bring the fight to them.

Trying to ignore the sudden sound of harsh, startled yelling in the distance, Edgar raised himself silently to his feet, signalling for his men to do the same. Two of them supported Gerard from either side, and together the group moved from their position, keeping a wary eye out as they cut a meandering path towards the clearing they knew lay only a short distance ahead. If their opponent had been seeking a vantage point from which to launch his offensive, then that would most likely be it.

It was about three tension-filled minutes before they finally managed to settle in a spot where the clearing was clearly visible, but which still offered them some measure of protection. As expected, their sorcerer stood dead centre, revolving at a steady pace as he eyed the surrounding trees warily. A small glass orb was clutched in one of his hands, glowing faintly in the dim light of the forest. He didn't seem to have noticed them yet, which meant that this could well be their only chance.

Edgar peered round at his men. Gerard was officially unconscious now, thought whether from blood loss or pain was uncertain. The other three were ready to go, though, and appeared to have noticed the same thing he had, and reached the same conclusion. A few quick hand signals to settle the plan, and a few seconds more before the sorcerer's rotation brought their approach path out of his line of vision, and then they were moving, their formation tight as they crept with quick, silent surety towards their goal.

And that was when things started to go horribly wrong.

Sir Vidor was the first to go, being the head of the formation. Five feet from their enemy, he simply burst into green-tinged flame, a glowing magic circle springing into life beneath his feet, with the sorcerer at the centre. Benedict followed a mere second later, to slow to stop his barrelling forward motion. The pair crumpled to the ground, the red of the bands they had tied to their arms flaring brightly. Edgar and his last remaining man drew to a horrified halt, before instantly springing back and apart in an effort to split the target they no doubt presented. The sorcerer turned slowly towards them, a malicious smile twisting otherwise gentle features into something which could have struck fear into the heart of the Devil himself. Something indeterminable, yet somehow terrible, glinted in his eyes.

"Well lookie what I found."

The orb in his hand pulsed again, its light marginally dimmer than before, and an invisible force sprung out of nowhere, binding Edgar's feet to the ground and dragging at the weapons of both he and his companion until they lay scattered at the sorcerer's feet. Smiling grimly, the man bent to pick up one of the blades, testing its weight and nodding once in satisfaction. The orb's light lessened marginally more, and the sorcerer glanced at it warily before backing towards a gap between two trees.

"Thanks for the sword. Tell that Prince of yours I said hi." And, with that said, he darted into the shadow of the trees and out of sight.

Or he _would_ have darted out of sight, had not a large net chosen that precise moment to drop onto his head, its weight sending the unlucky sorcerer crashing to the floor. A figure stepped out from behind one of the trees, yanking the near-spent orb from the hands of the fallen man.

"Tell me yourself."

The effect was immediate. The bonds around Edgar's feet disappeared. The trees faded from view, leaving a number of solid wooden posts in their place. All of his fallen comrades clambered to their feet. And a disgruntled moan echoed out from beneath the net.

"Owww!" The net rose and dumped itself on the ground several feet away, revealing a rather annoyed-looking Merlin rubbing his head and glaring balefully up at the Prince. "You didn't have to drop it quite so hard."

Arthur merely shrugged, entirely unaffected by the comment as he eyed the meagre glow coming from the ball in his hands. "You really were almost out, then."

"Yeah."

"I thought so."

As Merlin busied himself with climbing ungracefully to his feet, the blond looked around at the scattered positions of his knights. "Who died?" Four hands rose sheepishly into the air. "Unconscious?" The hands were replaced by two others. Arthur sighed. "So in capturing an opponent of only moderate power levels, six knights were incapacitated. That number would have risen to eight had the enemy not run out of power when he did." The Prince did not look happy. "Hardly our best result yet. Wouldn't you agree?"

No-one answered. Edgar didn't dare speak. He had effectively got his entire force wiped out. What kind of result was that for a squad leader? He looked down at the sash tied around his arm. The green was still glowing right now but, if things had been even slightly different, that could have applied to the yellow- or even the red- instead. This really wasn't good enough. Eyes blazing, he turned his gaze to where Merlin now stood, looking right back at him with a knowing expression on his face.

"Where did I go wrong?"

Merlin smiled approvingly, offered him a tiny nod, and then gestured for the other knights to gather round.

"Your first mistake was a simple one, but without it the others likely wouldn't have occurred. Before we started, Arthur told you that, while my specialities were unknown, I would be playing the role of a mid-level sorcerer. If you hadn't relaxed at that point, then I have no doubt that this mission would have been a lot more successful. You cannot assume that a lack of magical power equates to an easy opponent, and you might not always have a Watcher with you to help if the situation turns bad. Remember, magic is about brains and ingenuity- not just raw strength. It's similar to sword fighting in that respect. A physically weaker man can defeat a stronger opponent with the right techniques and tactics, and in the same way a magic user with limited power can prove to be an extremely tricky foe to bring down. If you had been as cautious here as you would have been against someone three times the strength, you may have succeeded in your initial assault and come away with only minimal injuries. If at all possible, never face a sorcerer head on unless you have a good grasp of their abilities."

"What about that final circle?" Benedict questioned. "How were we supposed to have got through that?"

"The idea wasn't to go past or through it," Merlin explained. "All magic has limits. The circle was set to react to a human form- animals or inanimate objects could have passed through freely; they require an entirely different type of spell. As Arthur's team appear to have worked out, it was a somewhat desperate last stand- an attempt to incapacitate you in order to have better chance of escaping. A single arrow, fired with the right timing, could have prevented any deaths."

Benedict didn't look happy. "But we were ordered-"

"-To bring me back alive to stand trial. I know. But you had already realised your enemy was a dangerous one. And I'm sure you're all aware of how pain can break the concentration needed for a trap spell. An arrow to my leg, or even a rock thrown with enough force, would have given you the opening you needed to take me down."

At least Benedict had the grace to look embarrassed.

"Right," Merlin exclaimed, clapping his hands together exuberantly. "I think that's enough for you to work with. _Edhwierft_." With a flash of the Warlock's eyes, every training band reverted to its original state. Another flash after he had retrieved the glass orb from Arthur, and it once again glowed with power. A third, and the wooden poles rearranged themselves, this time forming the illusion of a small village; complete with faint, ghost-like images of the residents strolling here and there among the houses.

"Same opponent," Merlin continued, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Different setting. Let's see how well you fare this time."

With a word from Arthur, the entire group of knights backed away to one corner of the cavernous training room, giving the Warlock time to conceal himself whilst they discussed their strategy. This time, Edgar decided, things would go very differently. He would make absolutely certain of it.

* * *

**Ja-jaaa! So? What do you guys think of the training room? Wouldn't you just love one all to yourself? The armbands themselves are fun enough. To me, anyway... **

**Again, I am 100% open to answering any questions about the things you've read so far- whether they be about characters, magical laws or the tricky little extras. Anything is okay, as long as providing you with an answer won't amount to spoilers (although I think we're fairly safe on that front so far).**

**Hope you enjoyed it!**

**(_Edhwierft = reverse)_**

**(By the way, I apologise, but I am woefully ignorant of plant life in general. Any plants mentioned in this story are likely to either be [probably poorly] researched, made up, or made up and in Old English. Crígan, for example, means bubbles. Make what you want of that. Lol.)**


End file.
